


Thorns on This Rose

by Yoshigali



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Gen, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), but in a mostly non-committed way, not quite a character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 08:24:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21353185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoshigali/pseuds/Yoshigali
Summary: War is not the place for roses.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Thorns on This Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime between the start of the war and Byleth returning. Technically Black Eagles/Crimson Flower, but no spoilers for any route.

_ More fighting. _

Dorothea hitched up her skirts and ducked into a nearby thicket. She could see two enemy soldiers converging on their fallen ally, a man she had killed, and she knew that soon they would figure out her location and come for her. 

She could feel the rough bark through the back of her robes and under her palms as she gripped tightly to the tree, hoping,  _ praying _ , that one of her own allies had diverted from their own course, and swooped in to aid her. She took a deep breath to steel herself, and dared peek around the tree to discover that she had no such luck this day. 

_ More fighting _ . 

She twisted her hand in the air, felt the tingle of static up her arm, and let loose a bolt of electricity towards the nearer of her assailants. It struck square in the middle of his chest, and the archer fell with a cry first to his knees, and then face down to the ground. Dorothea could not spare the time to see if he was still moving. 

The second soldier, now sure of Dorothea’s position, began to move quickly towards her, sword at the ready. Dorothea spun, searching for somewhere to hide until she could will the magic back to her fingers. She was drained, both physically and mentally, and the wait until she could attack again was terrifying. The sound of foliage crunching underfoot followed her, but with her heart pounding in her ears, she couldn’t tell if it was the sound of the enemy or her own flight. 

_ More fighting _ . 

Suddenly leaves and dirt filled her vision as she was sent careening towards the ground. Her skirts had caught on a root, or her feet on a patch of uneven ground, or – it didn’t matter because that was all the time it took for the soldier to close the distance between them. She scrambled to her feet as he swung his sword, and caught her arm with the blade. She cried out, stumbled backwards, and clutched a hand to the bleeding gash on her upper arm. The magic was close now, energy almost, but not quite, thrumming to hand. 

This was it. The enemy took a wary step forward; he must have realized that she would soon be able to cast another spell. But Dorothea couldn’t do anything now, nothing but shuffle backwards and try to keep the fear from her eyes. He raised his sword again and then, with a gurgle, dropped to the ground. Dorothea blinked rapidly, hardly believing it. An arrow was now coming out of his neck, having hit precisely in the gap between armor and helmet. A hand on her shoulder – Dorothea jumped, panicked, until she realized who the hand belonged to. 

Petra stood at her side, bow in hand, concern in her eyes. “We are finishing now. Ferdinand is chasing the...the remaining, and we will be returning. The pass is ours.” 

“Thank you,” Dorothea nodded towards the fallen soldier, keeping a firm grip on her bloodied arm, “for saving me.” 

“You are not needing to be thanking me.” Petra slung an arm over Dorothea’s shoulders and began guiding her back to the rest of the army. “Is your arm needing healing?” 

Dorothea laughed, not with humor but exhaustion. “Yes, but it can wait until we get back to Linhardt. I am much too tired to try and do it myself.” 

“I am thinking Linhardt will be saying the same thing.” There was a smile in Petra’s voice that Dorothea could hear, even as her attention was focused on staying upright. 

Dorothea’s laugh this time was genuine, and she wrapped her uninjured arm around Petra’s waist, leaning further into her friend’s support. 

\--- 

Dorothea set down her tray and sat at the mess table across from Linhardt. He did not look up, or acknowledge her at all, but Dorothea had a feeling he knew she was there regardless. 

The silence often shared between the two of them in the dining hall was, she decided, companionable. While the quality of the rationed meal itself was often wanting, having someone to share it with made it all the better. Today however, she wanted to talk with him. 

“Lin,” she broke the silence. His eyes flicked up towards her, then back towards his bowl. “How do you do it?” 

He didn’t respond right away, possibly waiting for an explanation. “Do what?” 

“This.” Dorothea tilted her head, earrings jingling. “Fighting. The war. Everything.” 

“Are you having trouble on the battlefield?” His gaze fell to her arm. It had been weeks since her injury, and she had healed just fine, thank you, but the memory lingered. 

She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. I was asking about a more...existential level.” 

An eyebrow arched. “My, how are we to have a serious discussion over such excellent...” he frowned, struggling to find the right word for the substance in front of him, “soup?” 

“Please Lin,” she closed her eyes “I’m being serious. ...I’m exhausted.” 

“Then sleep.” 

She levelled a stare at him. “If you do not wish to talk to me, you can just say so.” 

“I do not wish to talk to you.” A deliberately slow blink. 

Her spoon hit the tray with a definitive clatter, and he nonchalantly returned his attention to his meal. The silence was not so companionable then. 

\--- 

“It’s not easy, but I do it by shifting my focus.” 

Dorothea jolted; her hands gripped tightly on the stone wall in front of her. She was standing on the bridge to the ruined cathedral, and had been staring into the distance in a most forlorn manner. “Lin! You must stop approaching me like this. I might have fallen off this bridge!” 

“Hmm.” He looked at her, disbelieving. “I shift my focus, that’s how I handle...this. The war.” 

“The war? Lin, I asked about that days ago.” 

“And now I have my answer for you.” 

“You shift your focus.” 

He nodded. Seeing her confused look, he explained. “I do not want to fight, in fact, I abhor it. But there is research to be done here, and I intend to live long enough to see it through.” 

“So you don’t think about it as fighting a war, but more like... a means to an end. You know,” her fingers tapped a melody on the stone, “if all goes to plan with this war, your crest research may not have much use anymore.” 

He huffed. “Please don’t remind me. I am well aware that both the antiquated system of nobility and the more practical application of crests may both soon become things of the past. But there is still value in learning what we can in the meantime.” 

“I think I can understand that. So, I need to find another focus... What would that be, I wonder.” 

“You can’t choose crests, that one is mine.” 

“Oh no, I don’t think I would enjoy that at all.” 

They settled back into silence, Dorothea returning her gaze to the forest below, and Linhardt, though facing the same direction, had closed his eyes. It was an easy, comfortable silence, and she greatly appreciated holding onto that part of their friendship. 

\--- 

What then, would she focus on? 

Once, Manuela had asked why Dorothea had entered the academy in the first place. Her answer, truthfully, had many facets. That she had wanted to prove herself, and that she was inspired by Manuela herself to work so hard for her goal. That the academy was filled to the brim with many of the most eligible bachelors in Fódlan was the cherry atop the cake. But trying to find a suitable husband among the knights and her classmates, with whom she could share a comfortable life, felt juvenile compared to her current struggle to simply survive. 

That her classmates were in this war with her, on both sides of the battlefield, was yet another grim reality Dorothea found difficult to stomach. She may not have been close to every student, but on more than one occasion she looked in the enemy’s face and saw the girl who always took an extra roll at lunch, or the boy who could never manage to comb his hair the right way, or... 

To be quite honest, Dorothea had never imagined that this war would go on so long. Not that she truly expected reality to be like an opera, but operatic wars never felt so...dreary. Prolonged. Perhaps it was that, or perhaps she had just had too much faith in her classmates, to think that they would make quick work of this, then life would return to a semblance of normalcy. Initially, Dorothea had considered returning to the stage after the first battles, but something about returning so soon, with a crumbling monastery and no real accomplishments behind her, made the thought sour. And so Dorothea stayed, mostly to remain with her friends and their vision for the future, and partly because she had no other options. It felt like there was little left of her but the thorns.

It was easy to keep fighting when the end was in sight, but that had not been the case for years now.

\--- 

Dorothea had been in many dangerous situations before. She’d been stabbed, burned, poisoned, surrounded, abandoned; all manner of horrible fates, but she had always been able to pull through. Whether with the aid of her allies or, in her younger years, by her own power, Dorothea had always managed to stand back up and face another day. 

She was beginning to feel that the curtains were finally, finally, closing on her. 

The fog that had settled over the forest was, she thought, dramatically appropriate. Certainly, if this battle ever made it to the stage, the lights would dim – to aid the audience in finding the proper emotions, but not enough to hinder their ability to see the stage. 

Which was precisely the cause of her predicament, as her bloody hands loosely held the lance in her side. 

They all should have known better than to get separated in this fog, but everything had been going so well that maybe they had just...gotten cocky. The tides had turned against them quickly, the bandits they had been chasing having found the upper hand in their own territory and dusk began to fall. At least, that’s what Dorothea had surmised from the sounds of battle around her, since she hadn’t been able to see it happen herself. 

She had tried to go back to the rest of the troops, to return to fray and help. Aided by her mage’s robes and lack of heavier armor, she was able to creep closer to the nearest shadow in the fog. She readied a spell, took aim and let loose, silently cursing when her magical attack instead hit a nearby tree with a snap of electricity. The figure before her spun around in response, moving on instinct and blinded by adrenaline, levelled their lance and charged towards her. 

Their eyes met and both pairs widened in realization too late – momentum carried the weapon forward and into Dorothea. 

Now she was laid out on the ground, making a good effort not to bleed to death. “Oh, Ferdie,” she said with a slight cough, “it’s not your fault.” The blood was sticky on her fingers. “I nearly hit you with as well.” 

He grimaced, a vision of dishevelment above her. His hair needed a good brushing - Dorothea imagined hers was in much the same state now. He seemed to swallow back his first response, and pointedly did not look her in the eye. “Let us get you patched up.” He began to dig through Dorothea’s pack. They had all started to carry emergency medical supplies, for situations much like this when magical healers could not be found or spared. “I apologize, my supplies are all in the saddlebags which I, regrettably, have left attached to my horse outside the forest.” 

If she really tried, she thought she could hear a hitch of emotion in his voice. At the moment, she wasn’t able to do much but listen to Ferdinand mutter while he began to treat her wound. Were this an opera, this would be the perfect time for a heartfelt revelation, if only to get Ferdinand to stop talking to himself; but Dorothea found she did not have the energy to say anything more than a soft “you should go help the others.” 

“Come now, Dorothea. It is my duty to aid you. Not just as the perpetrator, unwitting though it may be,” he ignored her attempt at a rebuttal, “but also as your friend. I cannot very well abandon you to this fate.” He rested a hand along her cheek, and Dorothea could feel it trembling. 

That was enough to draw her attention away from her wound and back to his face; his eyes were brimming with an emotion she didn’t recognize. “My, Ferdie, are you crying over me?” It was meant to be a gentle question, something to lighten the mood, but from his frown, she wasn’t sure that had come across properly. 

“If I  _ am _ crying,” he returned his focus to tending to her wound, “it is out of concern for a dear friend. I have grievously injured you, and I must admit, I find myself unsuited for repairing that damage.” 

“A dear friend,” pain laced her voice as Ferdinand continued to tend to her. “I used to truly hate you. I’m glad we were able to become friends by the end.” 

“This is not the end for you, Dorothea,” he held down a patch of blood-soaked gauze and attempted, one-handed, to bandage it into place. “I am not sure what we would do without you.” 

“The war effort will do just fine without me, I’m sure. Do try to write a stirring eulogy for me.” Oh, the salve Ferdinand had applied was starting to kick in, words and sense both were now escaping her at an alarming rate. Had she not been in such pain and a state of sedation, she was sure she could have responded more elegantly. 

“That is not what I meant. And I would appreciate if my patient would have more faith in my ability to keep her alive.” 

Her eyes closed slowly. “Really Ferdie,” she patted his hand with her own bloody one, “it’s okay.” 

_ It’s okay that this happened, it’s not your fault, it’s okay if I die, you don’t need to blame yourself, it’s okay... _

\--- 

Apparently, Ferdinand had shared what she’d said with the rest of the Strike Force. Dorothea would have been more annoyed with him if the response hadn’t been so...sweet. Nearly all of Dorothea’s friends had made a visit while she was in the infirmary. Even Bernadetta had dropped off a small bouquet – not just flowers, but also some foreign plants Dorothea didn’t recognize. Petra and Bernadetta had picked them out together, she’d explained, and they would protect Dorothea from bad spirits, eating them up like flies. 

And she was not in the infirmary for long, thanks to a combination of healing magic, medicine, and good old bed rest. Which made it all the more surprising to her that so many people had found time in their schedules to see her. So when there was a soft knock at the door, more announcing a presence than asking permission, Dorothea was shocked to see Hubert in the doorway. 

“I didn’t think I would see you until I was back on the battlefield.” Her side was still bandaged and tender, but she was sitting up in bed, a book in her hands. 

“Did you not think I would come to check on you?” 

“Oh no, I just didn’t think I would actually see you do it. Sneaking into the infirmary in the dead of the night seems much more in character.” She winked. “But truthfully...no, I imagined you would be too busy with the war and your inscrutable spy network -” he frowned at that, “which we all know you run Hubie, really, it’s no secret.” 

He stood by her bedside, far enough away to not feel as if he were intruding on her space, arms crossed. “I must admit that, in part, you do have the shape of it. This visit is somewhat...strategic in nature.” 

“Oh?” Her eyebrows raised, and she closed the book on her lap. “Did this injury make me privy to state secrets I’m not aware of?” 

“Do you want to be here?” 

“What?” 

He looked her in the eye. It was unnerving, to have the attention of a man usually wrapped in shadows. “Do you want to be here?” 

“Of course I – what makes you think –” She couldn’t stand the intensity of his gaze, and looked to her own hands. 

“Ferdinand was...emotional, after your most recent battle, understandably, but in part because of what you shared with him.” 

“I was not in my best state of mind,” she started, but Hubert continued. 

“And from your discussions with Linhardt as well, I have cause for concern.” She looked up at that, and found he had moved closer. He paused a moment, as if unsure, then sat on the edge of the bed. 

“Hubie, are you spying on me?” She hoped there wasn’t too much anger in her voice, just a measured amount, enough to change the topic, to not have to talk to Hubert of all people about her feelings. He didn’t respond. She sighed. “I won’t lie and say that in a different world, I wouldn’t rather be somewhere else. I'm not the same person that I was at Garreg Mach, and I didn’t realize there would be so much blood on my hands. I just...want to be done with...I don’t know, really.” She twisted her hand around her wrist. “And what of it? If I did want to leave would you stop me? Hide my body?” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I would do nothing of the sort. Losing you would be demoralizing for much of our army, even more so if you were to die; but if you wished to leave, I would not stop you. I have a sworn duty to see this war through, you have no such oath.” 

She lets that comment sit for a moment, mulling over their conversation. “When you said this visit was strategic, you were talking about my impact on morale?” 

“In part. But also...you are a friend Dorothea, and it concerns all of us when you are...out of sorts.” 

She laughed softly. “Out of sorts? That’s one way of putting it.” 

“This war has changed, and will change, us all. It would not be unheard of to look in the mirror and dislike your reflection.” He laughed. “Of course, I have not liked my reflection for quite some time now, although that has nothing to do with my actions.” 

“My, Hubie, was that a joke?” She raised a hand to her lips in mock surprise. 

“It was an attempt at humor, yes.” 

“In that case, a poor reflection is something we can fix!” 

He frowned. “What?” 

“There may be a war going on, but the  _ Minister of the Imperial Household _ ,” she lent each word a dramatic gravity befitting the station, “he must keep up appearances, lest people think poorly of his work.” 

“This is not at all where I meant the conversation to go. But,” one hand found hers, still resting on the bed. The gesture was clumsy and more than a little awkward, but ultimately appreciated. “It is good to see you in better spirits.” A beat, and then he stood. “And talk to Ferdinand. He has been beside himself for days, and is somehow even more insufferable than usual.” 

“I’m not sure why he hasn’t come to talk to me himself. But, yes. I will talk to him.”

His hand was on the door, with his back to Dorothea. “Now, I have been away from my affairs long enough. Do try to recover quickly.” 

“Thank you, Hubert. This couldn’t have been easy for you.” 

Apparently satisfied with their interaction, Hubert left the room, and left Dorothea alone with her thoughts again. 

\---

Dorothea had been cleared to leave the infirmary, though not yet to return to active duty. After stretching her legs and returning her effects to her own living space, she set out to find Ferdinand. He was conspicuously missing from her infirmary visitors, and Dorothea was itching to tie up this particular loose end.

She found him, somewhat predictably, in the stables, brushing out his horse with the determination and focus found when one was avoiding thinking about other things.

She held her hands in front of her as she approached. “Hello there Ferdie, and,” she nodded slightly at the mare, “hello to you as well ma’am.”

Ferdinand turned with a start. “Dorothea! It is good to see you well. I trust you have made a good recovery?” He was facing her, but he avoided looking her in the eye.

She nodded, and stepped a little closer. “I don’t blame you, you know.”

“Although I do not fully agree - I should certainly be more aware of who I am attacking - I have made peace with calling the incident an unfortunate accident. That is, however, not what truly concerns me.”

Dorothea picked at the horse’s side, pulling out little pieces of thread and dust left behind even after Ferdinand’s fervent brushing. “Hubert already talked to me about if I want to stay, and...I think I do. I’ve done a fair bit of thinking the last few days!”

“That is heartening to hear, but still not, I feel, the heart of the matter.” She uttered a small questioning sound, and he continued. “What concerns me is how,” he faltered, grip tightening on the brush, “how ready you were to  _ die _ .”

“Ah.”

This was a conversation she had wished to miraculously avoid, and considering that Ferdinand had not visited her once in the infirmary, she imagined he had not been looking forward to it either.

“I have seen my fair share of fatalism over the years, Dorothea, but it is always disturbing to see it in a friend.”

“Ferdie…”

His free hand found her shoulder, the grip firm. “Death is something we all must face, but we must still fight to survive. It is one thing to be felled on the battlefield, and another to just accept it.”

“I don’t  _ want _ to die, Ferdie. I just...” She turned into his hold, throwing her arms around him in a hug. He froze for a moment, and then wrapped his own arms around her shoulders. “All I can do is fight, and I’m not even good at it. I can’t lead troops, I can’t come up with grand strategies. I don’t know what I’m good for anymore and -- ”

“You do not need to be on the battlefield to be useful, and you need not be  _ useful _ to be appreciated. You are a friend, Dorothea, and you are beloved by us all, is that not reason enough to remain in this world?”

She struggled to find a proper response, instead choosing to bury herself deeper into the hug. These were difficult emotions to voice, and while they both danced around truly dealing with _this_, the sentiment was clear that she would have support in getting there. “Thank you Ferdie.”

They stayed like that for a moment longer, quiet and comforting, before breaking the embrace. With another shared smile and an affirming pat on the arm, the two parted ways and returned to their tasks.

This war was long, and hard, and there was blood – so much blood - on her hands. But to know that she had friends, friends who would visit her in the infirmary, who would cry over her, who would set aside their reservations and comfort her, Dorothea felt better. 

Not perfect of course, not totally at ease, but better. She had a long road ahead of her but -

Maybe there was some flowering left for this rose after all.

**Author's Note:**

> The differences between Dorothea's pre- and post-timeskip battlefield quips hit me like a ton of bricks.


End file.
